Quiet Observations
by Notasongasandwich
Summary: High School hold many surprises. Change being the ultimate aspect for one of our favorite South Park residents.


Why, Hello. This is, in fact, my first fan-based story published on the Internet. Although I have others in notebooks at home, etc.  
>I would thoroughly appreciate any pleasant and constructive reviews, or just read to your heart's content.<br>This will have further chapters, so don't fret.  
>Ah, and "South Park" and all related characters belong to Matt Stone and Trey Parker.<br>(Which is great, because they do a fantastic job) 

"Stan!" yelled Cartman from somewhere behind me, breathing heavily.

"Pass the ball, asshole!" he insisted.

Stan looked over, chuckled, and passed the ball to Kenny, who had grown in height several inches before the start of our freshman year of high school. Lucky bastard shot up before any of us did. Hell, I guess he deserves it. Being the poorest kid in school, as dubbed by Cartman (who was also seething over the lack of ball passing), he finally got what he wanted. The last half of 8th grade blessed him with many cutesy little notes from the 8th grade girls. You know, that 'do you like me- check yes or no' bullshit. Hey, at least Kenny got a kick out of it.

Stan had his fair share of physical maturing during the course of that 8th grade year. He grew much taller, albeit not as tall as Kenny, but enough to turn heads or something. He grew his hair out a bit, and I guess everyone liked that. You should've seen Wendy. Shit, she was pissed when she realized that Stan wasn't 'adorable' anymore, and other 8th grade females started taking a liking to him. However, I'm not going to get into that whole bit, it's far too complicated and makes my head hurt thinking about it. They love each other, then hate each other, blah blah blah. I gave up awhile ago, trying to figure them out that is.

Kenny swiftly caught the ball and with little effort, easily threw it into the basket.

"Goddammit, Stan!" yelled an irritated Cartman, "He's not even on your side! You did that to piss me off, you stupid hippie faggot!"

His insults were accented by his middle finger in the air.

Cartman, on the other hand, no one knew what to think about him really. He certainly wasn't the fat little asshole from our childhood. I mean, he still had some weight on him, but he was quickly growing into it. The last time I had fought with him, and he _actually _hit me? I was surprised when it actually hurt, it definitely took me off me guard. Don't get me wrong, I still won the fight, but I was watching him from then on.

That, however, was only his physical appearance. It was his attitude that seemed to be changing. Well, maybe not changing, I would say the needle on the compass was turning. Slightly.

Mid-way through 8th grade, I noticed he insults held a little less...venom. Did he still insult everyone, and their _mother_? Oh yeah. But. It was like he said it just to say it. Almost as if the hatred he once felt for everybody...dissipated. Well, maybe not completely, but it was getting there. I realized that the more and more he began to settle into his mature self, I began to observe him more and more often.

Regardless of whether he was a volcano building up towards eruption, or something much more elaborate, it intrigued me.

"Well, duh." snickered Stan, "Isn't that our job? I mean, really, we piss each other off. That's the goal. You should know this by now."

Cartman settled into into a contemplative expression, before he had the chance to throw out some bullshit rebuttal.

"Whatever." He said, slightly irritated, "What's the score?"

"We stopped keeping score after you chucked the ball into Kenny's face, remember?" I said as-a-matter-of-factly.

"I was aiming for you, you know that right?" He laughed as he, again, threw the direction of banter on me.

I rolled my eyes, as usual. However... I couldn't help but feel happy. This was how it should be.

Playing basketball with the people I've known since childhood, fucking around, not a care in the world. This was how I would have wanted it to be forever. But hey, as cliché sounding as that was, I somehow knew that everything would change. These pre-dusk nights of mischief, would come to an end. Shrugging it off, I hurled a half-ass insult back at him, and decided I would try to enjoy _this_, while it lasted.

"Fuck, dude." sighed Kenny, "I gotta get heading home. It's getting late."

"I can not wait, til we can drive," Stan said almost wistfully, "Dude, I'd drive you home whenever you needed a ride. Fuck that walking bullshit, you're on the other side of town." That was Stan's attempt at some sort of sympathy. I could tell he always felt bad when Kenny had to walk home. He didn't live in a particularly pleasant area of South Park.

"In the ghettooo!" interjected Cartman in a sing-song voice, "I wouldn't drive you, I wouldn't want to get shot by some drunk-ass hick with a shot-gun."

"Fuck you, dude." was the retort from a thoroughly irritated Stan. Kenny looked away, slightly embarrassed. I knew he didn't like the topic of his home-life. Finding a close enough rock, Kenny kicked it, turned away, and heading towards the aforementioned "ghetto".

"Dude," said Stan, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration, "sometimes you are an incredible asshole."

"I thought that was our job?" teased Cartman. Jesus, sometimes he knew just what to say to get under someone's skin. It was that particular talent/weakness, that made me question my little theory/observation. Then again, there were some moments that proved me otherwise...

"Christ, Cartman..." sighed Stan, "I'm going home now. It's getting late. Oh, and Cartman? Wear a condom when making love to your ego, okay?"

Stan looked at me with a guilty expression which clearly said, "Sorry, our houses are in opposite directions". He then walked away, past the trees, across the street, and past the houses, until I couldn't see him anymore. I always became nervous when alone with Cartman. I'll be honest, It's not always bad. Sometimes we actually have some pleasant conversations. The arguments were what I dreaded. Besides, I wasn't in the mood to deal with that tonight.

He looked at me then, with a mischievous expression on his face. It was at this point when I couldn't tell whether he was going to be all stupid and offensive, or whether he was going to be remotely pleasant.

"Listen, Cartman," I said exasperated, "I don't want to deal with any bullshit tonight." I looked at him with a serious expression. "So, chill out." I added.

He looked at me with a strange expression, that even I couldn't read. God, I hated that. What the hell was he thinking, or even feeling at least? I gave up, and decided to roll with it.

We started walking towards the direction of both of our houses, silent as first. I suppose it _was_ getting late. I looked at my phone, the time glared back at me as 9:07. It was getting fairly dark and the streetlamps were turning on. The air was filled with a comfortable chill. Brisk. Yes. That word described it perfectly. I was enjoying the silent walk, it was nice, almost eerily empty. I liked it. I started thinking about the upcoming summer, and what everyone would do, the adventures, fights, and parties maybe? I think Clyde had said something about a party...

It was Cartman that broke my train of thoughts.

"What are you nervous about Kyle?" he asked.

I looked at him almost surprised. There was no hint of planning or scheming in his eyes. I had been so suddenly broken of my trail of thoughts, that I had answered honestly.

"Life." was the answer I had chosen.

"Life?" he asked curiously. "Nah. I think your afraid of change. We're going into High School in three months. You haven't started acting all contemplative for no reason."

I looked at him, my mouth slightly agape as he read me. Was I that obvious? Maybe I had been a bit quiet, maybe even daydream-y lately, but it couldn't have been _that_ bad. No. Stan would've said something for sure. What could I have said to that remark? Christ.

"And you aren't?" I asked almost too defensively. "You're not nervous what-so-ever?"

His looked to the ground at that one, and said nothing. This was un-marked territory, boundary-breaking interaction for both of us. I couldn't help but chuckle.

"What's so funny, Jew?" he retorted, more defensively than I had.

"It's just weird," I said truthfully. "We're supposed to hate each other. I'm Jewish, and you're some anti-Semitic asshole. But it's so meaningless. We hate each other for legitimately no reason, other than for the sake of hating each other. But for some fucked up reason, we have these stupid conversations like this."

I knew I had said too much at that point. I humbly waited for the sneering rebuttal that was to follow. Although... It never came.

"You know what? Goddammit." he said struggling. Believe me, I could tell. He said it with no discretion, almost as if he gave up. "Look." he paused, and looked up. Searching for words. "I..." again pausing, frustrated. "I don't fucking hate you, okay? Christ. If we truly hated each other? If I hated you? I wouldn't be talking to you right now."

I looked at him again. He looked away, shoving his hands in his pockets. The surprise I felt had eluded me within seconds of its arrival. I knew he was right. I was only surprised he was telling me this. I was surprised, that for once, he opened up to some one other than himself. Hell. I was almost proud. Yes, proud. Proud of the fact that the little bastard I had chosen to stick around with all these years, despite the fights and words exchanged, was slowly feeling something other than anger, hate, and isolation. Am I analyzing? Yes, yes I am. However, when it came to the topic of Eric Cartman, he was so obscure, one could do nothing _but_ analyze.

"Why are you telling me this?" I asked with sincere curiosity.

He sighed again, defeated.

"Because, I think to myself sometimes. I ask 'what's the fucking point?' I piss you off for the sake of pissing you off, because I like to get people riled up. It's funny. Even you'd admit that, well, some of the time." he shot a slight grin at nothing in particular. "But do I hate you? No. What the point of trying to fake something that I don't even want to feel anymore."

"Cartman, I..." I said, attempting sympathy. I didn't know what else to say. It was almost as if, for a moment, I was seeing what was behind whatever the fuck he hid behind.

"No, dude. Shut up." he said quickly. "Look, I mean all that bullshit, okay? Just don't bring it up. And don't make me say it again. I just figured... you oughta' know, or something."

I looked at him completely speechless.

"Okay." I said, with some sort of expression on my face, that to this day, I cannot pinpoint. "I won't say a word. But...thanks. My respect for you gained like 20 experience points or something."

His embarrassment faded into a small smile. It wasn't much, but it was something.


End file.
